


Making waves across my time

by sebviathan



Series: Strange Magic [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Loads of it, M/M, essentially a rewrite of the show had it gone in the shassie direction, in the sense that many episodes are directly referenced and some cases are solved differently, side gules, takes place season 5 and onward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Strange Magic</i>. AKA all the twists and turns that they take, getting further and further away from how things would have gone if Lassiter had never gotten cursed.</p><p>Some things change, some things are more or less the same, and some things branch off entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making waves across my time

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, this is essentially a rewrite of early season 5 and onward, based directly off the events of _Strange Magic_ and how it would have affected canon. Most of the same cases still happen, and the vast majority of this fic is still playing off of the canon cases/episodes, so if you're not particularly familiar with the details of canon, I put a list of all the episodes referenced and their corresponding parts of the fic in the end notes.
> 
> Also, the title is a lyric from the song Strange Magic by ELO, continuing the idea from the first fic.

I.

Shawn decides that sooner is better than later.

According to Lassiter, he and Gus might as well be the same person, so it wouldn't be fair not to tell him-" _It's not like him knowing could possibly jeopardize our jobs, either._ "

The only problem is that it's all kind of leaning on a secret that Shawn's been keeping from his best friend for the past five years—and he can't exactly go back in time and un-keep it. Can he be blamed, though, for neglecting to talk about the crush he's harbored on Lassie all this time?

It's not one of those things that Gus would have noticed on his own, either. The guy is so aggressively heterosexual that he even refuses to believe that there's anything homoerotic about Reservoir Dogs—which, frankly, is ridiculous.

When he finally explains, Shawn does it in two parts. The first being to just outright tell Gus that he's bisexual, since it'll soften the blow.

"I mean, you've had crushes on Val Kilmer and Billy Zane for years, but I always figured they were just... I dunno, celebrity exceptions. Everyone has them."

" _You_  don't."

"Well, yeah, but you know I find the male physique disgusting—"

"Exactly. You're super duper straight, and I'm not. I've never been. Girls are great, and I generally stick to them because it's easier—and also because I tend to be really picky with guys? I kinda have a really plain taste in women...but  _anyway_. You're cool with it, right?"

"Wh—of course, did you think I wouldn't be?"

"Well, good, because now you're mentally prepared for the second thing I gotta tell you."

He takes it a lot better than expected. That is, he's much more confused than angry, and he's also far more hung up on how Lassiter could feel that way about  _him_  than the other way around.

"...Now that I'm thinking about it, though, I guess it does make sense."

"You mean now that you're looking back and taking off your Straight Goggles?"

"There  _was_  that time that he got your bike out of the impound, which seemed kinda out of nowhere to me back then. And did I ever tell you how shaken up he was that time you got shot? I mean, he actually used your first name."

Shawn almost forgets to respond as he grins and remembers that day, particularly Lassiter accidentally calling him ' _Detective_ ' after complimenting his shooting.

"Yeah, you did, but thanks for reminding me."

There's a pause in which Gus gives him an odd look—and maybe Shawn should give him more credit in the queer-radar department, because he seems to pick up on the way he's smiling at those Lassie-related memories, and likely also the way he's leaning on his knuckles.

"Holy shit, you're in love with him."

"Yeah, I just told you that we're dating."

"No, I mean you're _really_  in love with him—wait." Gus's eyes widen, and Shawn can practically see the wheels turning. "Oh my God, the curse.  _You're_  the one who broke it, aren't you?"

As a reward for coming to that conclusion on his own, Shawn tells him everything about the other night. Of course not  _everything_ _—_ the slightest mention of what a stallion Lassiter truly is and Gus already has his hands clamped over his ears like a five year old. But he at least knows about the cloud now.

When he finally seems to accept it all, and no longer looks confused, he turns to Shawn with one last question:

"So... this means you've officially retracted your dibs on Juliet, right?"

 

* * *

 II.

Seeing as it's only their first case as a couple, they clash a bit more than Shawn expects them to.

"Come  _on_ ," he whines as Carlton tries to escort him and Gus off the crime scene, "you know how I do what I do now—you know it's real. I can help, Lassie!"

Carlton sighs and glances around covertly to make sure no one heard that.

"Fine. If you can look around and tell me something we don't already know, you can work on this case."

Disappointingly, he can't. But that's never deterred him before they were dating, and it's not going to deter him now.

It's clear to him that they do actually need his help, too, considering how many times Lassiter's been evidently watching and rewatching that pursuit driving tape the next day.

"Got no leads, huh?"

Carlton glances up from his computer, and stiffens when Shawn leans down and puts an arm over his shoulder.

"O'Hara's working on it. I'm trying to figure out where the shooter's car was."

"Why don't you just extrapolate from how long it took the car to coast to a stop?" Gus chimes in, at which Carlton is slightly more annoyed than impressed.

Meanwhile, with the arm he has draped over his shoulder, Shawn is lightly tugging at his left ear, causing a blush to creep up on his cheeks.

"Stop that."

So he does. But then, right as Shawn means to say some witty innuendo, he hears distinct humming coming from the pursuit video.

"Lassie, are you humming... danger music?"

Carlton's face goes redder than before, and he tries not to look at the way Shawn is grinning at him.

"That's fucking adorable, Lass—"

"I'm done here," he says abruptly, leaving Shawn behind as he stands up to talk to Juliet. He stays and watches the rest of Lassiter's video, deeply amused, before following.

Before, Shawn assumed Lassiter's reluctance to let him on the case was mainly out of fear that compliance would be suspicious—but now it seems to be more just... fear for his safety.

"What do you even know about street racing?"

"More than I know about a lot of other cases I've gone undercover for in the past—and  _solved_ , in case you forgot."

Luckily (for Shawn, not necessarily for Carlton), Henry agrees that he's the best shot they have. And as the head of consultants, his opinion is what matters. So Carlton finally relents.

"You realize these are dangerous people? I'm trusting that you won't make an idiot out of yourself and get hurt." Shawn immediately grins at that, which makes his throat tighten. " _Caught_ _—_ I meant... get caught."

Shawn just gives him a knowing smile before he and Gus leave.

_Sure you did._

_*_

Contrary to anything he may have threatened to do in the past, Carlton doesn't actually like the idea of hurting Shawn for real. He never would have done it all, no matter how much it might have helped the case, if Shawn didn't quite literally demand it.

So when the bruise forms the night after they catch Tommy, he actually feels a stab of guilt.

"Damn, I got you pretty good. Sorry."

Shawn's eyes widen just slightly when Carlton brushes a thumb over the bruise on his cheek, which makes him figure it still hurts and pull his hand away.

"No, don't be."

"But I didn't even really hold back—"

"Lassie, you don't understand," he says with the beginnings of a laugh. "Seriously. Do  _not_  be sorry."

He would likely remain confused if Shawn didn't promptly grab his hand and guide it straight to his crotch, which is... oh.

For a moment he continues to frown, and then when he finally understands he actually feels a bit shocked.

"You're into... getting punched?"

Shawn's lips stretch into a wild grin. "I am  _now_. By the time I hit the floor I was rock-fucking-solid—and this is just from thinking about it."

Part of him wants to call Shawn a disgusting heathen, and part of him is actually getting aroused from the idea. And subsequently, part of him  _feels_  like a disgusting heathen.

"I didn't think I'd enjoy real pain that much, but it makes sense—Tommy talked about adrenaline highs, said I had the kamikaze in me... Of course it's not the same thing, but. I'm gonna be open about it: I want you to  _beat the shit out of me_ , Lassie."

Carlton can only gape in silence for several seconds.

"...Really?"

"Not right now. Unless you want to?"

"Um. I don't actually—"

"Don't think of it as hurting me, just know that you are... really,  _really_  getting me off."

This is crazy.  _Shawn_  is crazy. But if he genuinely wants it... well, maybe it'll be a nice way to blow off steam. Especially after long weeks of getting riled up by his antics.

"Give me some time to think about it," Carlton tells him. "At least until your current bruise is healed."

He then raises a hand to Shawn's face again and thumbs the purplish mark, though this time he presses down a bit. Shawn's chest immediately arches towards him, his breath stuttering and pupils dilating wider.

...This might actually be quite nice.

 

* * *

 

III.

"Admit it, you're jealous."

Gus gives him an incredulous look. "Why would I be?"

"Come on, you're gonna tell me the whole ' _you've officially retracted your dibs_ ' thing was purely curiosity?"

At once, they both glance away from the crime scene, over to where Declan is chatting up Juliet. Shawn is pretty sure he hears his friend sigh.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous of him, but so are you."

"What kind of  _scandalous_  accusation—" Shawn gasps dramatically, putting a defensive hand on his chest. "I have Lassie now, man. I'm over Jules."

"Not that—he's the new and improved  _you_ , Shawn. Hell, even Lassiter's impressed."

Now that actually hurts, if only because he knows it's true. Lassie's been throwing him glances every time Declan has beat him to the punch, and while he's sure he doesn't have to worry about infidelity, Shawn just plain doesn't want anyone else to take his attention.

"Yeah, well." He folds his arms and looks over to Lassiter, who gives him a quick, small smile in return. "At least he's  _mine_."

*

As per Shawn's advice, once they realize that Declan's a phony, Gus takes his chance.

Except, of course, Mr. Perfect beats him to the punch just like he's been doing with everything else during this case. The only good part about all this is knowing that he only got Juliet by coming clean, something Gus knows Shawn would never have been able to do for her.

He doesn't know now, though, whether he should be grateful that his friend is taken now. Essentially, he's still living in Shawn's shadow—just the kinder, more attractive version of him.

 

* * *

 

IV.

Carlton is sure that he wouldn't care this much if they weren't together—he's used to Shawn taking stupid risks, but now it feels like somewhat of a betrayal.

"You  _cannot_  go behind my back with shit like this," he ends up yelling in the car on the way home from the sting. "If you're going to risk your life in such an idiotic way, at least  _tell_  me first!"

"Funny, I thought you'd be angry about me 'potentially ruining the operation.'" There's no good reason for him to be upset, but he can't help the bitterness in his voice.

"I  _am_."

"Just not as angry as you are that I don't tell you everything that I'm gonna do."  
"Yes, because you  _should_. Anything to do with cases, at least. Are you honestly getting mad at  _me_  for caring about you?"

Shawn pauses, and sinks into his seat a bit. He's just stubborn enough not to give up, though.

"...Maybe I'm mad because you clearly don't think I'm capable enough!"

"Without a badge, you're not! Some things  _need_  to follow procedure, Shawn—you get away with it on a lot of cases and that's not nearly as bad as I've made it out to be, but sometimes there's no leeway. Sometimes breaking the rules means more than fibbing on a police report afterward, like people losing their jobs, or evidence getting thrown out and the criminal slipping past the system, or... or people getting  _killed_ , okay?  _Okay, Shawn_?"

Well shit, now he just feels guilty.

And actually pretty intimidated.

...And also a little turned on, just for a second, before it occurs to him that Lassiter isn't punching-mad so much as he's just. Frustrated-and-kinda-ready-to-cry-mad.

Watching his profile from the passenger seat as he drives, Shawn slowly gets over himself. Only a couple months so far and this relationship has seriously humbled him.

"Hey, I'm sorry." Carlton just barely takes his eyes off the road to glance at him, and says nothing. "I really am! I'll tell you about all the cases I do from now on—even the ones I do privately at Psych. I promise."

At that, Carlton actually does look over. But maybe that's more because they're stopped at a red light.

After a moment, he exhales a deep breath he's been holding in and turns back to face front. "...Thanks."

His expression hardly seems to change, though, which makes Shawn frustrated after a minute.

"What, is that not good enough? Is there something else you want me to say?"

"Is there something you have in mind?"

It takes a bit of a toll on his dignity, but it seems worth it:

"...You're a better cop than me, okay?" Carlton glances over again, this time in pleasant surprise. "I mean, you're Head Detective for a reason. And... maybe I could do with some of your discipline. You, Carlton Lassiter, are an exemplary public servant, and I admire you. That's what you want to hear, right?"

"Depends, is it true?"

"I—yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

Personally he believes that Shawn is the better cop (or he would be, if he followed the rules) but he's not going to argue. It's obvious enough how much better he feels now.

"So. What are you feeling for dinner?"

Shawn smirks, relieved. "I'm feelin' you find a place to stop the car so we can make out."

"Okay, but dinner afterwards, right?"

*

 _You've_ got _to be kidding me._

It isn't the first time he's ever been pulled over, but not while working on a serious case. This is just plain inconvenient.

"Sir, I'm gonna need to see your license and registration, please."

"I— _Shawn_?" He almost didn't recognize him with the uniform and sunglasses on. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Part of the police academy training," he smirks, letting the toothpick he's been chewing on hang from his mouth. "And you, sir, were doing 45 in a 40."

"Look, I'm actually  _very_  busy—"

"Hey!" Guster says from the opposite window, tapping on the side of his car with his baton. "Have you been drinking, sir?"

"Get away from my car, Guster!"

"Woah, sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle."

The way Shawn leans against his car (if the inflection of his voice wasn't enough) as he reluctantly complies makes it obvious that he's trying to live out some porno-inspired fantasy, but there's no way that's happening in broad daylight. Especially not with—

"Conforth?"

".. _.Lassiter_?"

Shawn straightens up and glances back and forth between them, looking amused. The latter leans close a moment later, though, and mutters under his breath,

"The hell are you doing with my ex?"

"Oh."  _Oh._  "Shit. I thought you guys were old rivals—"

"We are," Conforth says, frowning at Shawn. "And I thought  _you_  just worked for him. And that you... didn't like him? But—"

"I only said I liked to  _tease_  him," he corrects. "We actually...  _very_  much like each other—"

Shawn starts to try to put his arm around Carlton's shoulders, but he slaps his hand away. He's not exactly comfortable with the idea of talking about his relationship to his ex-boyfriend from practically twenty years ago—or even just in front of anyone else, really.

"I didn't even know you were still on the force, Conforth. Thought you quit after your little freakout."

"For your  _information_ , I'm the Associate Head of the police academy, in charge of all cadet training, so you—"

"Well that's pretty cool—you know what I'm doing these days? Oh, you don't? I'm the Head Detective of the SBPD. And I'm actually on my way to do  _real_  police work, so if you don't mind."

As he promptly gets back into his car and straps himself in, Shawn turns to him with a mocking pout.

"Aw,  _honeybear_ , I think you're being a little harsh—"

He stops when Carlton glares at him, but still tries to bend down for a goodbye kiss. Which he considers accepting for a moment, if only to annoy Conforth, but he decides to spite Shawn and abruptly drive away.

"...He's seriously Head Detective?" Conforth asks, sounding upset.

Shawn watches Lassiter's car drive away with a smirk. "He sure is."

 

* * *

 

V.

"Chief, whatever you're thinking of doing to Spencer, I don't think you should do it."

The way she regards him, then, is with a look of wariness.

"And... why is that, Lassiter?"

"Because I told him to go into Czarsky's place," he admits quickly to get it over with. It's pretty risky doing this, even if he and Vick are completely alone in her office, but it's only fair. "Sh—Spencer came to me and told me he needed to go in and get a... a psychic feel of the apartment, or something, and I told him to wait for a warrant, but he convinced me that it might take too long to be effective, so I gave him permission."

There's a pause in which Vick merely frowns at him, and he can almost see the cogs working—he can see her coming to the conclusion that his and Shawn's relationship has changed dramatically, and possibly exactly what it's changed  _into_... and then she finally speaks.

"As glad as I am that you've grown less reluctant to... be cooperative with Mr. Spencer's visions, Lassiter, it wasn't your permission to give."

"I know, I'm just telling you so—"

"So you and Mr. Spencer can share the punishment. Honestly, I wish you hadn't told me—the department having a 'lack of control' on our consultants is one thing, but outright giving them permission to break the law? ...Alright, here's what's going to happen. The mayor and the press won't find out about your indiscretion, but you  _will_  take on a great deal of paperwork as punishment. Meanwhile I can't un-suspend Mr. Spencer without drawing suspicion, but I'll be less harsh. I suppose hearing that you actually came and confessed to me will be restitution enough for him."

That's the best he could have hoped for, really. Especially considering she hasn't asked what he feared she might.

"Thank you, Chief."

"Oh, and Lassiter?"

"Hm?"

"I think the fact that Mr. Spencer came to you at all shows that he's matured a great deal. I don't know if you actually have anything to do with it... but if you do, please keep it up."

 

* * *

 

VI.

This is so fucked up. This is  _too_  fucked up—it's overwhelming, honestly, just knowing that for the past three years, Shawn has kept the attention of a literal serial killer.

 _Two_  serial killers, Carlton reminds himself.

 _Come alone, or the girl dies._  Of course Shawn would do as the letter says. Frankly Carlton wouldn't do the same, but Shawn is much more people-oriented. He cares more. What a fucking  _idiot_.

"You know you don't have to do this, Carlton," Juliet tells him, glancing worriedly between him and a cuffed Yang. "I could do it just fine."

"You've dealt with this son of a bitch enough already, O'Hara." It's not a lie, it's just not his actual reason. He knows he can do this faster, if only because he has one singular motivation: to get Shawn the hell out of there, alive.

At the very least, he has no intention to let Yang get a picture with Shawn. He doesn't negotiate with serial killers, whether they're technically  _victims_  or not.

*

He's only down there to retrieve a mug, but he ends up staying. The isolation of the interrogation room is just what he needs after all that, and he figures it might help the words come freely as he writes his official statement.

Less than five minutes later, a knock at the door perks his head up and Shawn walks in.

"Hey. Buzz said he saw you come down here... You're still not finished with that thing?"

Carlton frowns back down at the paper as Shawn shuts the door, reads the last sentence he's written, and then his lips twist into a wry smile.

"I've been, ah, working over this part in the statement, about, um. About how you figured out who Yin was..." He wipes his face and starts shaking his head, angling his head towards Shawn again—"because you noticed that  _one of your army men was facing the wrong direction_."

 _God._  He still can't believe it. The intensity of what happened earlier made him forget about it for a bit, but other than that he hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Shawn just pulls up a seat and raises an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, I  _knew_  how far your abilities extended, but..."

"Here's what you put down," Shawn starts, putting a firm finger on the empty line. "'Shawn Spencer, resident psychic, had a  _brilliant_  vision that led us to the true identity of Yin.'"

Then he simply retracts his hand and grins, but Carlton can't bring himself to be annoyed. He just keeps going over the scene in his head.

"You were all the way across the room—I wouldn't have been able to tell from there even if I was  _looking_  for it. Fuck, if I didn't know the truth about how you do it..."

"I don't know how I feel about all this sudden flattery, Lass."

Except maybe slightly worried. His grin fades as he scoots closer, and as Carlton keeps his eyes on the paper.

"Maybe it shouldn't be sudden," he says quietly. "Maybe I should tell you more often."

Oh. "...You have plenty of time to tell me how incredible you think I am, and  _actually_ _—_ it would kinda wear out the novelty if you said it too often. Even once a week might be too much."

At that, he faces Shawn again.

"But what if I don't?"

Shawn's shoulders drop immediately. "Lassie—"

"I just keep thinking... just another few seconds and you might have died, and  _painfully_ , or if you hadn't managed to literally _annoy_  your way into staying alive—"

"Hey!" Shawn's hand darts out and grabs his cheeks, squishing them together so that he can't speak. "This isn't the first near-death experience that I've had and it won't be the last. And you know what? Maybe this wasn't the final boss, but anything that comes after will be small potatoes compared to Yin."

Several moments of silence later, Carlton makes a soft noise of agreement in the back of his throat. And Shawn, apparently satisfied, leans forward to kiss his comically squished lips.

Another moment and he releases Carlton's cheeks, allowing him to kiss back. He only does so briefly, though, before sighing and resting his forehead on Shawn's. And then he takes a couple seconds to just stay like that, and to keep his eyes closed and breathe.

"...I know you're not as okay as you're pretending to be."

The edge of Shawn's lips quirks slightly, almost like he's impressed.

"Neither are you, but that's just because you're not trying that hard."

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it, but..."

"Maybe later. Maybe tonight, so you can just... help me repress it afterwards?"

Carlton grimaces, which holds just enough annoyance for Shawn to feel that things are still normal. He promptly smirks and leans back.

"Gus has been waiting out in the car for a while now—you want to come get pancakes with us? I know you're hungry, Lassie."

He is, but the statement's barely half-finished. And Shawn realizes a moment after he says that anyway.

"Nevermind, I'll bring you some. I dunno if they'll travel, though, it might get messy—"

"I'd prefer doughnuts, actually, if you wouldn't mind picking some up."

At once, Shawn smiles, stands up, and leans down to kiss him again; once on the mouth, and then on the nose.

"Sure."

*

The only reason she keeps watching for so long, really, is to see whether or not it's even  _real_. After what just happened there's a definite chance that it could be some trauma-induced hallucination, but... It doesn't seem like it, now.

It certainly would explain why Carlton was so willing to go in there for Shawn, but what the  _hell_. What the  _fuck_ , actually?

Juliet can hardly even remember what she came down here for in the first place—wait. Right. To find Carlton. (And technically, she did.)

Once she manages to rationalize it enough that the idea of Shawn and Carlton in a relationship doesn't seem so surreal, she has half a mind to walk straight in there and confront him about it. She should be angry, shouldn't she? Carlton is her partner and he kept a secret like  _that_ from her—

Except she would do the same thing if she was dating a coworker, if she's being honest with herself. Not only that, but there's the factor that they're both men, which could lead to unwanted judgement, and she hasn't exactly given him a reason to be absolutely sure that she wouldn't mind.

She also imagines they've been avoiding the inevitable blow-up of confusion due to their surface relationship, which naturally leads her to wondering:  _how_  did this happen?

 _It's not my place to say anything,_ she reminds herself. And Juliet  _continues_  to remind herself several times a day in the following week, any time she sees Carlton and Shawn interact. Looking at them in the context of them being together, though... a lot of things just make more sense.

Maybe she doesn't necessarily  _deserve_  to know, but that doesn't stop her from being terribly curious. And impatient. And progressively more and more annoyed, in spite of herself, that Carlton doesn't trust her enough.

She'll just have to get one of them to confess on their own. Or at least... guilt them into it.

 

* * *

 

VII.

"You know what, Lassie, I think you can afford to leave this early in the party. Did you even  _know_  Jim?"

"...No, but the point of attending is  _respect_. And keeping appearances—which, by the way, we're risking by talking at the bar like this."

"Let's go somewhere more private, then. Like... the bathroom?"

"You must be out of your mind—that's illegal, and this is a  _cop bar_."

"Out back, then. Or the car. I'm not picky."

"...You wanna get outta here that bad?"

"Fuck  _yeah_  I do."

 

* * *

 

VIII.

"Look at the  _facts_ , Lassie! Puncture wounds on the neck and wrists. Victim almost completely drained of blood. We've already dealt with a real witch and a real  _curse_ _—_ is it that hard to believe a vampire might have done this?"

"He's got a point, actually," Juliet agrees, turning to face Carlton.

"Okay, but—but what about that werewolf case, huh? It turned out  _not_  to be a werewolf. And we've had what, at least three other cases where people thought it was ghosts or demons or something? I'm sure that curse was a one-time thing."

"So it's settled, then," Shawn says, at which everyone frowns at him. "We go to Lady Rowan's and see what she can tell us, in her professional witchy opinion."

*

Carlton half expects the witch to get angry the moment they walk in, or even—worst case scenario—to straight-up curse him again.

Instead her eyes light up, like the four of them are old friends to her. Or maybe just him.

"Detective Lassiter! You seem much happier than you were the last time we met."

She then smiles in between him and Shawn, at which they both stiffen, and the latter risks a glance at Juliet. Luckily she doesn't seem too suspicious, but moreso just curious.

"Well," Carlton says with a cough. "You cursed me the last time, so."

"Yes—and frankly, considering how everything turned out, I think you should thank me, Detective."

Rowan folds her arms expectantly, and now Juliet actually does raise an eyebrow.

"His bad luck almost  _killed_  him."

Before the witch can open her mouth and tell Juliet  _exactly_  why he should thank her, Carlton steps forward and abruptly asks:

"Do you have any experience with vampires?"

It comes out a bit louder than intended—enough to startle everyone around, including the one other person in the shop. Rowan frowns for a moment between him and his partner, then dawns a quick look of understanding.

"Not the kind you're probably thinking of," she says, leaning on the counter. "Assuming you're thinking of the fanged monsters that turn into bats and sleep in coffins—actually, I don't even believe in them."

Shawn hisses " _dammit_ " under his breath while Carlton shoots him a particularly smug "I told you so" look. Meanwhile Gus actually stomps off in disappointment.

"What other kind is there?" Juliet asks.

"Well, if you know the origins of modern vampire legend, you know that Vlad Tepes had a real disease. And there are people today who have that disease and do need to drink blood to survive—though most just eat raw steak. And then there are people, both with that disease and without, who simply got a taste for human blood once and now they're addicted, or... have a natural inclination towards that, for magic purposes. Technically, it all  _is_  vampirism, just not the way most people think about it."

Gus almost immediately steps back into the group, looking much less dejected than he was a minute ago.

"So we might be looking for someone with porphyria, then! Which technically  _would_  make them a vampire."

"I wouldn't say being really excited about killing automatically makes someone a vampire, Gus, but more importantly—Rowan, if someone had that Dracula disease, would they leave puncture wounds on someone's neck and wrists when they bled them dry?"

"Um. Well... if they were really into traditional vampire lore, sure."

"Or just plain crazy," Carlton supplies.

Gus perks up again. "Porphyria  _can_  have acute psychiatric symptoms."

Carlton looks to Rowan. "You know anyone who wants to be a vampire that bad?"

"I don't get customers like that," she says with a shrug. "None that would tell me about it, anyway. But I  _can_  give you the address of a vampire bar? Well, it technically doesn't have an address, but. I know where it is."

That was a surprisingly useful visit, Carlton thinks as they leave. Good on Shawn for having the idea to come here.

Meanwhile Shawn himself, as well as Gus, can only think about whether or not everything they've ever believed about vampires is still valid.

And though they probably should, none of them have any idea that Juliet hasn't remained oblivious. In fact, by the time they're out of the shop, she feels pretty confident in her guess that her and Carlton's platonic kiss is  _not_ what broke that curse.

*

In most ways it's lucky that Shawn was there—once he heard muffled screams, he jumped out of bed and tackled Adrian to the ground before he could do more than chloroform Carlton and drag him inside.

But then at the very least the timing is terrible—because Carlton has actually developed a decent tolerance to chloroform by now, and because it seems that simultaneously, Juliet realized that the killer has been after O-negative. Carlton's blood type.

So when she shows up at his home, Shawn hasn't even had time to put pants on. And judging by the way she looks between them, even avoiding the passed-out killer on the floor, she's easily putting two and two together.

"You know," Shawn starts, forcing himself to laugh, "there's actually a  _very_ good explanation for all of this, Jules—"

"We're dating," Carlton interrupts, straight-faced. And as Juliet merely widens her eyes, Shawn gawks at him. "What? You thought you could come up with a believable excuse as to why you're in your boxers in my house?"

"Well shit, Lassie, I thought you'd give me more credit than that. Gimme a few seconds, I could think of something—"

"I'd love to hear the story behind this," Juliet cuts in, sounding exasperated, "but we should really get this guy to a hospital first. And then the station."

Somewhat jarred, but also relieved that it's finally out in the open, Shawn and Carlton hurry to get properly dressed.

*

"So you've known for weeks and you just decided not to say anything?"

"More importantly—exactly  _how_  much did you see, O'Hara?"

She may be his partner, but Carlton isn't sure he's comfortable with her seeing the more vulnerable parts of him. Not in that way.

"Uh... most of it?"

"And you just stood there and watched?"

"I'm sorry, I just— couldn't look away! It was like a trainwreck. A really  _precious_  trainwreck, by the way."

As bothered as he should be that Juliet saw that private moment between them, Shawn can't help but give a flattered grin. And naturally, Carlton grimaces.

"And just in case you were," she adds, "you don't have to be worried about me telling on you guys. But for the record, I really don't think the Chief or even internal affairs would care. I can't be the only one who's noticed that cases have been going a lot smoother ever since you two—"

"You just found out about them, huh?" They all turn to see Henry, who's just entered their circle with crossed arms and a smirk. "I've known for months."

"Dad? What the hell, I never even told you!"

"You butt-dialed me when you were in Canada. I had to pay money for that call, actually, and now I think you owe me—"

"Could you people keep it down?" Carlton hisses, jerking his head around to make sure no one else in the station has heard.

"No offense, but  _you two_  haven't exactly done the best job of hiding it," Henry says. "I mean, Lassiter—do you know how many times a week you slip up and call Shawn by his first name? And any idiot could see you've been making more excuses to touch each other."

Juliet frowns, somewhat offended, and Shawn raises an eyebrow.

"Wow, Dad, I don't know if I should be proud or worried that you've clearly joined a book club. Or perhaps some online forum. Is it TVtropes?"

"...Yes, but that's not the point. I guarantee you half the people on this floor, at least, already know."

"Psh,  _half_?" Carlton scoffs. "I doubt it. Maybe a few— _maybe_."

"You think so? ... _McNab, get over here_!"

"Wh—what are you doing?"

"Asking the least observant person we have to prove my theory."

In just a few moments' notice Buzz McNab is at Henry's side, ready to... lay down his life, probably.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Buzz, I just wanna ask," he starts, and then gestures to Shawn and Lassiter. "Do you know about them?"

McNab's puppy dog eyes glance over them, and in that moment neither of them have any reason to fear that he'll know what Henry is even talking about—

"About Shawn and Lassiter dating? Yeah, of course."

Carlton is immediately stepping forward, half-angry and half-panicking, and backing McNab up against a wall.

" _Who the hell told you_?" he demands, and McNab puts up his hands defensively, looking terrified.

"What? No one told me, Lassiter, I just—"

"You just  _what_?" Juliet is one thing, but if  _McNab_  has somehow overheard or seen them doing something...

"I just... thought it was obvious?"

 _...Well, shit_.

With no choice but to let him go and apologize, and feeling slightly humiliated, Carlton avoids Henry's smug grin.

And, seeing no need (or desire) to discuss this further, he takes his first chance to go back home and take Shawn with him.

 

* * *

 

IX.

Maybe it's the newfound strain of people actually knowing about him and Shawn, or maybe it's just his ego.

"You just don't want to be wrong—"

"You're supposed to be on my  _side_ , Spencer!"

"Hey, I'm not  _excited_  about you being wrong,Carlton."

Juliet and Gus promptly look at each other uneasily, knowing that the fight must be real if they're pulling the last name-first name thing.

"I'm just telling you that you might be," Shawn continues, arms folded. "Because my  _very reliable psychic senses_  are telling me that not only is Bethel genuinely insane, but he's also innocent."

Carlton scowls as Shawn puts his hand to his head, and briefly glances to his partner. She's the only one in the room who actually believes it.

"Well. Maybe you're insane."

"Maybe I take that as a compliment!"

" _Maybe_ ," Juliet cuts in, both verbally and physically, "you two should calm down. Carlton, you worked hard on Bethel's case, and you don't want that to be for nothing. I'm sure Shawn understands that. So he wouldn't go in a different direction with this if he didn't  _really_  believe it was the right thing."

After a moment's pause, Carlton's expression softens, and he pointedly avoids Shawn's eyes. "Well,  _he_  could have said that."

"I was right about to!" he says indignantly, throwing his arms up. And when Carlton gives him a look of disbelief, he lets them drop. "I care about justice just as much as you do, Lassie—I'm not gonna let an innocent guy take the blame for a murder just because I love you."

The moment he says it, all at once the air in his lungs seems to disappear, Carlton's face goes red as a beet, and everyone else's eyes widen as far as they can go. The ensuing silence is almost painful.

Finally, Shawn manages to squeak out: "I should probably... go. Back. To the hospital. Okay. I'm going."

*

"I suppose I should... apologize, now that all that's over."

"For not believing I was right?"

"I  _knew_  you were right—I just didn't want to be wrong, okay? So you were right about that, too."

"...And?"

"And what? That's it.

"If you had let me help you on the case originally, we probably wouldn't have gotten in this mess at all! You can't deny that, Lassie."

" _Probably_  being the operative word. Besides, you're hardly in a place to call the situation a _mess_ _—_ you were  _right_  at home there. If I could afford it I'd have you stay there another day to get evaluated."

"Hey, at this point I'm sure I know you better than anyone, and  _you_  belong there just as much as I do."

"What? I do not."

"You kill your neighbor's squirrels, Lassie."

" _And_? I hate squirrels, so what?"

"You know, they say only an insane man would believe he's perfectly sane. Which by proxy makes  _me_  healthier than you!"

Shawn eventually gives up, if only because he can tell that listing all the signs of instability in his boyfriend might actually make him worse.

So then they sit in silence for the rest of the ride to lunch from the station, a bit of an awkward air between them. Shawn tries to break the silence when they park in front of the restaurant, but Carlton beats him to the punch:

"Move in with me."

He looks too nervous to be joking. Shawn blinks.

"...This isn't about you thinking that I'm not sane enough to live alone, is it?"

"What—no, I swear, it's not. I was just thinking. And it occurred to me that you aren't...  _completely_  wrong about me being unstable—or at least having been, in the past. And then it also occurred to me that... well. You, uh, are probably the reason that I'm not so much anymore."

He averts his eyes with that last part, particularly as Shawn's mouth drops open in awe.

"Lassie, I—"

"It's fine if you don't want to right away," he says quickly. "I know you're not comfortable with quick change—and neither am I, but I... I've kind of been thinking about it ever since we got Yin? And  _that_  got me to thinking that I should really get a new place whether you move in or not, which could easily take months, so. You can take your time, if you need it."

"...Well shit, Lass." Shawn pauses to sigh, which makes Carlton immediately regret saying anything, but then—"I think being around you has given me secondhand growing-the-hell-up or something, because that idea is not  _nearly_  as scary as I thought it would be."

"So you—?"

"I could use the few months to mentally prepare myself, but...  _yeah_. I think it's about fuckin' time we live together, man."

Nodding and smiling (particularly at Carlton's relieved smile, because it's such a  _precious_  smile), Shawn leans across the seat and kisses him.

Not for too long, though—he's fucking starving.

 

* * *

 

X.

He doesn't realize how long he's been standing and staring until Juliet turns around to face him directly.

"Gus? Did you want something?"

"Uhh... Um." This is stupid, he's talked to her without Shawn plenty of times before, there's no good reason for his throat to be closing up. "I was—well,  _Shawn_  and I were wondering... do you have anything planned for your birthday? Because it's your thirtieth, and if you weren't already doing something, we figured we should plan maybe a double date with him and Lassie or something? I mean—not a  _date_ , not with us two anyway, but just a dinner or—"

"Actually, I do have something already," she tells him, looking somewhat sorry about it. That's a comfort, at least. "Declan wants to take me somewhere. He didn't say where because he wants it to be a surprise but—"

"You're still dating him?"

Juliet blinks slowly, then raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Oh, I just-—I haven't heard you mention him lately, is all," he says quickly, hoping he doesn't look too suspicious. "I thought you might have broken up or—something. Sorry."

"No—you're fine, Gus. Actually—I wouldn't mind a second birthday party, if you guys wanted to plan something weekend after next."

"Oh! Yeah, sure. Weekend after next it is."

He walks away feeling like an idiot, deeply regretting not allowing Shawn to come up with him. How is it that Juliet is the one girl who makes him feel like he has absolutely no game?

Maybe, his inner God-fearing self tells him, it just means that she's the one.

 

* * *

 

XI.

"I'm sorry, but DNA doesn't lie. He's definitely dead."

He's never understood Shawn's thing with Despereaux, and frankly he's never liked it, but it's hard to feel entirely apathetic about that criminal's death when Shawn is hugging him tightly and crying into his shirt at the podium of a funeral.

Of course, the fact that there's a small crowd of onlookers makes Carlton uncomfortable, but Shawn is clearly devastated.

"Death is really  _real_ , isn't it? It's all real! And life is so short and fleeting and—oh my god, Gus is going to die."

"I'm not gonna die, Shawn—"

"Yes, you are! And Lassie, you're going to die even sooner, I—oh god, I can't handle that—"

"I wouldn't say that for sure— _you're_  the one with a diet that's entirely Redbull and nachos," he retorts. And as expected, it does genuinely comfort Shawn.

Not Carlton himself, though. He's not nearly enough in the mood to be affected by the mere thought, but he couldn't bear to see Shawn die before him.

"Okay. Hey. If you wanna keep hugging me, we gotta move this somewhere else."

Instead of agreeing to that, Shawn merely lets him go, nods, and walks off on his own. Carlton can only return to his spot with Juliet and Henry, and watch him go with intense concern.

*

"Don't lie, Lassie, you're relieved he's alive too."

"Only because I know if he wasn't, you'd be moping around here for who knows how long. And... becauseIcareaboutyourhappiness."

Shawn's lips stretch into a hesitant grin. "What was that?"

" _Because I care about your happiness_ , if you really need to hear it. Despereaux may be a lying, cheating criminal, but... I suppose if you care about him this much, he can't be all that bad."

Part of him wonders just how far Shawn's admiration for Despereaux extends, but he doesn't ask. He's never had it in him to ask.

Shawn seems to read his mind this time, though, because he brings it up:

"You're not  _jealous_ , are you?"

 _What? Me? Jealous? What absolute crazytalk,_ is what he thinks of saying.

But what he actually says is, "Why? Should I be?" Which comes off as twice as insecure, probably.

"Don't you think I'd have run away with him or something, if there was a reason to be?"

Half of him immediately wonders if Shawn at least wanted to, but then the other half of him knows without a doubt that if he  _did_ , then he would have.

Shawn does what he wants; he isn't held back by social conventions. He could be literally anywhere in the world, and yet he's right here. Because this is where he  _wants_ , wholeheartedly, to be.

"...I guess there isn't. Nevermind."

 

* * *

 

XII.

"Deceased's name is Mark Waraftig, age thirty-five. Kept a tidy living space... I respect that."

Shawn, along with everyone else at the crime scene, look on curiously as Carlton combs through the apartment—not for evidence, but to get an idea of the square footage.

"You know, this is better than a lot of the other places I've checked out, and I'm sure the fact that someone killed themselves in here has made the price drop—"

"Are you serious, Lassie?" he asks, mildly terrified by his boyfriend's standards for where he  _lives_.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I— _no_ , we are  _not_  living in a dead guy's apartment. Not even just because it could be haunted, but just—that's in such bad taste, Lassie, oh my god. No."

Carlton's hopeful expression immediately disintegrates into a pout.

" _Fine_."

 

* * *

 

XIII.

" _You went Rambo at a shooting range?_ "

"It was to draw out the owner, who I thought was Jerry—but more importantly, how do you even  _know_?"

"Guster told me. He's worried about you—"

"That _traitor_."

"—and so am I, Shawn! You have every right to be angry, hell, you have a right to break all of Carp's shit, but... There is  _nothing_  more dangerous than an investigation where someone is emotionally involved."

"Yeah, exactly, I'm gonna kill that piece of—"

"I meant dangerous for  _you_. You're not rational right now—you don't have the capacity to care about your own safety in all this, so you  _definitely_  don't have the capacity to plan things well... Which is why I'm going to help you."

*

"Look, I can go in with you, if you want."

Shawn tears his eyes away from the house and looks at Lassie with a small smile.

"I'm glad—and frankly amazed—that you're willing to risk getting fired for me, but I can do this alone. Really."

"You're risking your job by doing this at all," he reminds him. Not that he expects it to deter him—or even wants it to.

"Yeah, well. You pay most of the rent and utilities on our house, so the  _real_  risk is us being homeless."

Carlton wants to laugh along with him and ease the tension a bit, but he can't bring himself to.

"...You want to go over the plan one more time?"

"Nah, I got it."

For a moment they just sit and stare at each other, not sure exactly what they're waiting for, but then Carlton decides:

"I love you."

"Oh—don't say it like  _that_ , Lassie, it makes it seem like you don't expect me to come back..."

"Well—"

"Don't even say it. I  _will_  come back, I promise. And I'll come back with a story about how I was super badass, which will most likely be completely true. Maybe eighty percent."

" _Shawn_."

"Okay, a hundred percent. I'll keep the mid-air flips to a minimum."

Carlton scowls at him, though he's too worried to be genuinely angry. And then Shawn undoes his seatbelt and leans over.

"Hey, trust me, alright?" He waits a moment for a sign of agreement in Carlton's eyes, and then smiles. "Good. Now give me a kiss for good luck— _not_  that I need it."

When Shawn finally leaves the car, Carlton touches his lips absentmindedly and hopes to god that he's right.

 

* * *

 

XIV.

"Dude, if Jules is on a dating site by a fake name, that doesn't necessarily mean she's  _over_  Declan—they're clearly still dating. She just wants to date other guys without him knowing—which is crazy, really, because who would cheat on a guy like  _him_?"

"What if he's secretly abusive or really dangerous or something?"

"No way, Gus, I'm sure Jules isn't the kind of girl to put up with stuff like that. I mean, she's a badass cop, I'm sure could take Declan down if she wanted...  _oh_. Okay, I get it."

"What?"

"It's an undercover thing, man—she's clearly trying to draw out some murderer."

"Which means she's probably still with Declan."

"Sorry, Gus. I'd go ahead and go on the date with that Indian chick. But you know what else this means? It means  _I_ have officially had a psychic vision which has led us to show up for the case uninvited. Let's go."

*

Making out with Lassie on a street corner isn't how he expected this sting to end up, but he's certainly not complaining. It's pretty vital to not ruining Juliet's cover, anyway—and best of all, Shawn's pretty sure he just mentally coined the term  _stakeout makeout_.

"Is  _that_  really necessary?" Carlton mumbles into Shawn's lips as he feels a hand snake down his pants and fiercely grab his ass. "We're in public."

"We need to be as convincing as possible, don't we?" he breathes, shifting to kiss his jaw so he can see if "Helene" and her date are still there. They are, but they do seem about ready to leave. "...In case that guy's a murderer."

Carlton highly doubts that those are Shawn's only motives anymore, considering how he's moving against him—how his hands are inside Carlton's jacket, getting him hot and bothered in the way that only he knows how.

"You do know this is illegal," he finally manages to say when Shawn leaves the tiniest amount of space between their mouths. "And O'Hara is still  _over there_ _—_ "

"I don't think it becomes illegal until I actually start fucking you. Or when clothes come off, whichever comes first."

Carlton thanks any powerful entities within praying distance when he hears a car door slam shut, finally allowing them to break apart. Just for  _now_ , he silently assures Shawn with a look—he'd really rather not come in his pants in the middle of a case, and/or get suspended for extremely inappropriate behavior on the job, but he's been put in  _quite_  a mood to get ravished.

*

"O- _oh my god_ , you're an exhibitionist, aren't you?"

Shawn doesn't even sit up to look at him, but rather just chuckles into his inner thighs and places a deliberate kiss before saying anything.

"What makes you say that?"

He then puts his tongue somewhere that makes it particularly difficult for Carlton to respond for a good few seconds, and smirks at the noise that he makes instead.

"You got so fucking turned on just from making out in public, I can't  _believe_ _—_ "

Shawn does come up (for air?) then, and promptly shuts him up with a bruising kiss. And the hands on Carlton's ass, pulling his legs up and over Shawn's shoulders, keep him from continuing that sentence once his mouth is free.

"I guess I am," he admits, voice muffled by Carlton's neck. "Maybe I just...  _really_  like the idea of people seeing _exactly_  what I do to you." He then makes a point of sucking hard on Carlton's earlobe so he can  _hear_  him—which makes Shawn significantly harder. "...And what you do to me."

Daytime Carlton—the version of him that's sober and unaroused and focused—is terribly uncomfortable with even the  _idea_  of doing anything about this newfound kink. But now, when he's like  _this_ , only vague thoughts can come to the surface. Some of which are that years ago, he never would have thought he'd even enjoy being on his back like this. And that when this relationship first started, it barely occurred to him that getting beat up was even a kink at all.

Shawn has made him flexible to the point that he doesn't have it in him to say no for sure. Not yet. It's possible that Carlton would be willing to do quite literally  _anything_  for him.

So when he finally lets up enough for Carlton to do anything but gasp and moan, he takes a hold of himself and nods.

"Maybe, Shawn.  _Maybe_."

*

It's no surprise that Juliet already has the guy pinned down when they get there, really—though what she had to do to get him there kind of is. She truly is a great actress.

"Eh, it wasn't that hard," she admits when he tells her so. "I've known too many men with a self-victimizing 'nice guy' complex to count. This isn't even the first one I've seen escalate to murder."

"Kinda reminds me of Bill Kramer—or what I can only assume he was like when he was alive."

"You know, I always forget he was even the victim in that case..."

"We're all victims, Jules," he tells her fake-seriously. She raises an eyebrow at him. "Victims of _life_. Anyway. You gonna tell Declan that you made out with a serial killer?"

Her expression falters, and she seems to glance over to where Lassiter is arresting Mike.

"Actually, um. I broke up with Declan about a month ago."

"Oh."

"Nothing nasty—just... I guess I realized the main reason I was attracted to him was just how rich he was and all the stuff he has, and... well, how  _attractive_  he is. But underneath that I don't feel like I actually connect much with him anymore, and I don't want to lead him on or use him for his money, you know?"

Despite the fact that he's been completely over her for nearly two years, Shawn can't help but be relieved she's not with that guy anymore. And when he thinks about it, this also probably means that Juliet is no longer into his type.

"Why didn't you mention anything about it before, then?"

"It wasn't pertinent to any case," she shrugs. "I told Carlton, though. He didn't tell you?"

"I guess he thought it was your business."

"Hm. Speaking of which, can I tell you a secret?" Shawn raises his eyebrows curiously. "I've been thinking about asking Gus out. But.. it looks like he has a girlfriend now, so—"

" _Do it_ ," he says so abruptly that it startles her.

"...Seriously?"

"He's only been on, like, two dates with that girl.  _Trust me_ , Jules, go for it. Right now. Follow your dreams. Go date him, and then marry him, and then you and him and me and Lassie can have one big double condo where we all live together with your five children, all named in correspondence with mine and Lassie's five dogs."

"I think those are  _your_  dreams, Shawn."

"Well, in my dreams, they're also your dreams, Jules."

She gives him an odd look, but ultimately does walk off to do exactly what he advised her to. By the end of which he and Gus are jumping in excitement together, exchanging air-fistbumps from at least forty feet away.

He can't wait to tell Lassie about this.

 

* * *

 

XV.

"I swear to god, if our boyfriends are dead—"

"If they're  _not_ , they will be, because I'm gonna kill 'em."

Almost as if on some ironic cue, less than a minute after Carlton says that, he and his partner stumble into a clearing where Shawn and Gus are standing with two strangers... and they all have cameras?

"Lassie! I tried to call you but I lost signal, how did you—?"

"We got a call from some hikers saying they saw a blue Echo, with Gus's license plate, abandoned on the side of the road," Juliet snaps. She looks no less angry than her partner. "Why the hell did neither of you tell us you'd be going on a day trip?"

"For the record, Shawn tricked me into thinking there was a cave restaurant out here," Gus points out, throwing his friend a brief glare.

"And—okay, Lassie, I'm sure you remember that I promised I would tell you about the cases I took, but this is  _not_  a case. It's a documentary. In fact, up until just ten minutes ago, I had no reason to believe there was any danger involved!"

"What danger?"

"It's what I was trying to call you about. We, uh... found two dead bodies."

*

Carlton quite literally feels like his leg has been ripped off, and yet even that can't compare to the shame of Shawn having just watched all that happen to him. He's never had less dignity in his  _life_.

"On the bright side, Lassie, you catching the camera was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. The nympho girl agrees with me."

To that last bit all he can respond with is a groan, and then it occurs to him through the pain—

"I can't believe you just stood there with your camera instead of  _helping me_."

"Well—I would have handed it off, but I was in shock and Jules pretty obviously had everything covered! Did  _you_  know that she was strong enough to kick down trees?—because I didn't. Gus is a lucky man."

The man in question emerges from the trees and walks back onto the riverbank a moment later, clearly having heard him.

"You know that's right."

*

"Would you stop filming me? I don't want to be in those stoners' documentary, not when I'm all..."

"Sweaty?"

"It's not  _sweat_ , it's water from the river," he insists. "I meant—I'm at my worst, here, Shawn. It's bad enough  _you're_  seeing me like this."

"Don't worry, I'll edit it out." Even so, he does lower the camera so that it isn't getting Carlton's face. "And aside from the sweat, you look fine—"

"I lied. About my ankle—the pain's worse than I let on. It's all I can do to keep it together, Shawn, I... I've literally been  _shot_  before, and it wasn't this bad."

At this point he actually does put the camera down entirely, so that it's on the ground and facing outward in the woods, and so he can slide down next to Carlton against the tree. And then promptly smooth the hair away from his face.

"That's because it's a completely different kind of wound, Lassie, it's... huge and gaping—"

"Eugh— _please_  don't remind me."

"Sorry. Hey, feel free to completely lose it in front of me, okay? I'm the last person who's gonna judge you. And maybe I'd like to know for sure that you're human and not a robot, like Gus suspects."

"Losing it's a last resort," Carlton says, nevermind the fact that he's leaning on Shawn. It comes out somewhat breathless. "Just because I trust you not to judge me doesn't mean I'm ready to break down crying."

If it's enough pain that his near-robot of a boyfriend is willing to admit to it, it's enough to be worried about. And Shawn can't stand sitting here with him and not being able to  _do_  anything about it except hold him.

Soon, though, he gets an idea:

"What if I just... pinch your nipple, and twist it  _really_  hard. Then maybe some of the focus of the pain will shift there and make it easier to deal with your leg?"

For a moment Carlton hesitates due to the initial absurdity of it, but then he figures that it's not  _actually_  a bad idea.

"...Okay," he says, nodding and swallowing. "Do it."

Any other time he would probably feel like Shawn just ripped his nipple off, but with his leg literally being partially off, it does shift the pain, and it helps. For a minute. And then he asks Shawn to do it again.

It can only work so many times, though, before his nipples are at serious risk of becoming desensitized for good—and frankly, that causes serious pause in their decision to continue with it.

"Wait—I don't think the problem is with my nipples," Carlton tells him, and if his voice wasn't so ragged now, that sentence would be far too hilarious not to laugh at. "I think my leg's just... getting worse."

"It's—oh  _shit_ , Lassie," he mutters as he pulls back Carlton's pant leg to check on the bandage. "You're losing a lot of blood. Fuck, we gotta—I gotta go get Jules, she'll know what to do about this."

As he starts to stand up, though, Carlton grabs his arm. He actually does look ready to cry, now.

" _Don't leave me here_ _—_ there's nothing left in the medical kit anyway, O'Hara said so."

"Well—shit, okay, I'll just have to redress it myself."

"But you don't—"

"I got sleeves, it's good enough."

He immediately rips one off, and though it doesn't come off clean or in one go, Carlton can't help but think, in his current state of lightheadedness, that it's one of the hottest things he's ever seen Shawn do.

"...You're gonna freeze," he tells him, sounding slightly drunk. "And I'm gonna bleed out. We're gonna die out here."

Once Shawn is finished wrapping his sleeve around Carlton's wound, he turns to smile at him. And he tries very hard not to shiver.

"No, Lassie, we're gonna be fine. We're gonna wake up tomorrow, maybe a little messed up, but still alive. You know how I know?"

As Shawn snuggles up next to him and stuffs his sleeveless arm inside his jacket (which doesn't help much, because it's still wet), Carlton only has the energy to frown.

"How?"

"Because," he starts, lifting a finger to his head. "I'm  _psychic_."

That's probably the only time hearing that has ever cheered him up. How Shawn knew that  _this_  would be the time is beyond him, but what confuses him even moreso is why it actually makes him more confident that things will be alright.

*

"At least they died together. It's pretty romantic, really—"

"Shawn and Lassiter are  _not_  dead, Chavo. Just because they got dragged off by something—"

"By Bigfoot," Kate corrects.

"—by  _a_   _bigfoot-like-creature_ , it doesn't mean they're dead, okay? I won't let them be. And Gus, where are you going?"

He doesn't respond, but merely walks off into the woods like he's looking for something. A few moments later he walks back into view, ironically looking like the most together person in the group.

"Juliet, I smell barbecue."

*

As soon as the credits roll, Carlton jerks his head over to Shawn.

"Did you  _have_  to include the nipple thing?"

"Come on, it provided a little bit of comic relief—and simultaneously drama, and also romance, all at once. It was the short, yet symbolic cut-away scene that the film needed."

"Except it's not even a film, it's evidence!

"Yes, and I believe it was necessary  _and_  relevant to include the elements of our almost-tragedy, Lassie."

"In  _any_  case," the Chief swiftly interrupts, "while some of the film may have bordered on inappropriate... I'll let it slide as usual. Especially considering most of you came out of this ordeal with gunshot wounds."

Carlton is inarguably the worst off, being the only one stuck in a wheelchair—and he's naturally pissed about being in a state like this, only being able to do paperwork and not even being able to do much without help, but it's only for another week at the most. And he certainly wouldn't admit it, despite everyone having just watched proof, but having Shawn take care of him really isn't bad at all.

 

* * *

 

XVI.

"Forgive me if I'm being too forward about this, but I have to ask—you and Head Detective Lassiter, is that—?"

"Why yes, Mayor, it is indeed a Thing with a capital T. If you've heard rumors about us living together, that's also true. We're, ah... actually  _really_  serious." It feels surprisingly amazing to say that out loud.

"Oh! Well firstly I want to let you know I have no problem with it—in fact, if the other rumors are true, you're the best thing that's ever happened to him."

The mayor laughs after that, and Shawn isn't entirely sure why, but he laughs along.

"I hope I am, Mayor."

"Anyway, Shawn—you always brighten my day when you come around here, and I wanted to offer up a little token."

"You're going to approve my chunnel to Catalina?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of brunch at my place. You and Lassiter both, if he can make it. After my surf tomorrow, maybe around ten?"

"Oh—yeah.  _Yeah_ , I'm sure he'd love to."

" _Great_."

With that, the mayor turns to leave, and Gus frowns at him.

"Lassie hates the mayor, Shawn."

"Doesn't mean he wouldn't want to get on his good side."

*

"For the record, I still think you should have brought O'Hara."

"Why? Jules isn't my boyfriend, you are."

"Exactly, you'd have better luck in the polls if you brought a woman as a date."

" _Not_  necessarily, Lass... They see me, in a stable, long-term relationship with the Head Detective of the SBPD—they see that I'm mature, and responsible, and devoted to the law. And they see me dancing with  _him_ , which means I'm confident being exactly who I am."

"They also see  _me_ , not knowing how to dance, and there's no way it's not obvious that I don't want to be here—"

"You're doing fine," he assures him. "And you never look like you want to be anywhere unless you're arresting someone."

Carlton harrumphs softly in response, and then remains silent for a bit, trying not to look at anyone other than Shawn and failing. It's so hard not to notice that they're all watching him, and that bothers him whether they're judging him or not.

He genuinely doesn't mind if people know about their relationship, or even displaying it in public, anymore, but he never thought that one day they'd essentially be broadcasting it to the whole city.

"You know, there's one other benefit of having you here instead of Jules."

"Hm?"

"If I was having this dance with her, _this_  part wouldn't be nearly as fun."

And then, as much as it's possible to startle someone while moving slowly, Shawn does so by pulling himself up for a brief, gentle kiss. There's an audible, though soft " _aw_ " among the dining crowd of the Gala, as well as applause and the sound of several snapping cameras. The song ends, and his and Shawn's feet slow to a stop.

"And  _now_ ," he whispers, "they've seen that I can make the sturdiest man in Santa Barbara weak at the knees."

When Carlton opens his eyes, he can hardly decide whether he'd rather kiss him again or kill him.

 

* * *

 

XVII.

Carlton wakes up as soon as Shawn does, and they're equally annoyed to find that it's Gus who's knocking at their door.

And then, equally concerned to see that he's crying and covered in mud.

When he explains why he's here and why he's such a mess, though, Carlton is easily more furious.

"Why the  _hell_  didn't you call me as soon as you found your boss dead? Or at least Shawn—you wouldn't have left any evidence, and no one would have suspected you, but now—"

"No, weren't you listening, Lassie? His hate note was in Creech's hand, so he pulled it out and ate it."

"He could have still trusted that we'd find whoever actually did it. Unless you _did_  kill your boss—"

"I didn't!"

"Yeah, of course he didn't, give him a break," Shawn adds. "...You're  _sure_  you didn't?"

" _No_! I mean— _yes_ , I'm sure."

"Alright, you didn't. You just made a series of terrible  _terrible_  mistakes that led to you coming here in the middle of the night... okay. So... what do we do about this, Lassie?"

"Well, I'm still not completely convinced Guster didn't kill anyone, but... we do nothing.  _You_  do nothing, Guster—you go home and wash your clothes and don't worry about it. And when I get called about a body in the morning, neither you or Shawn show up, and any evidence that points to you, I'll cover up. Got it?"

"Um... I—yeah, but are you sure—"

" _Yes_ , I'm sure I can do it. Just... thank me and leave so we can go back to sleep."

Gus is ushered out the door as soon as he gets the word out, and Shawn and Carlton pass right back out within the minute.

 

* * *

 

XVIII.

Trout's got them on two accounts of inter-office dating, disregard for procedure, desecration of remains, and choking a fellow officer. Out of context, it's objectively reasonable.

But he just walked in here  _today_. He doesn't know any of them and he doesn't  _care_ _—_ not that they're a solid team or even how much justice they've served. All he cares about is running an impractically tight ship, and it's just plain goddamn unfair.

"This can't be real. This is  _crazy_ , Lassie, he can't just show up out of nowhere and do this to us. And I don't mean he's not  _allowed_  to—I mean he just shouldn't be  _able_  to. One weird granola-eating, Trump-looking guy can't possibly screw up the natural order so badly in one sitting, but here we fucking are!"

Carlton can't find it in him to be put off by how angry Shawn is, mainly because he feels the same. Ironically enough, though, he's far less violent-minded about it. In fact he's more depressed than anything, but that's due to his sudden demotion.

"It  _isn't_  just one guy," he tells him, dropping himself on the living room couch because he _literally_  can't stand thinking about it. "It's a new regime. It's Swaggerty, forcing his narrow ideas on the SBPD all at once."

" _God_ _—_ so I did this, by letting Swaggerty become mayor. But what could I have done, just continue with the campaign? No, it was unavoidable and stupid and just...  _what the fuck, man_! Seriously, Lassie, what the  _fuck_."

As Shawn dissolves into nonsensical ranting, Carlton merely watches and listens him from the couch. It's actually therapeutic to an extent, since he supposes it's a secondhand-complaining sort of thing.

"...Is it weird that I don't even feel in the mood to drink?" he eventually says, at which Carlton actually has to agree.

"Hell, I'm not even in the mood to have angry sex."

"Me neither! Which is especially weird because in any other situation where you choked me in public I'd be thinking about it the rest of the day, but I don't even  _care_. How fucked up is that? Out of everything I could possibly do, the only thing I feel like doing is just...  _staying_  angry. Wait—Lassie, why the hell did we drive  _home_?"

Before Carlton can even sit all the way up, Shawn is halfway back to the door.

"What—?"

"There are gun ranges open this late, aren't there?"

At that, Carlton is scrambling off the couch, grabbing his keys off the coffee table, and pulling Shawn out of the house by the hand. Both of them simultaneously wonder if they'll be able to print out a huge picture of Trout's stupid, ugly face for the targets.

 

* * *

 

XIX.

"Okay, I think the speech is a good idea, just... don't include the part about the middle name."

"What? Why not?"

"Do you _really_  need me to tell you why, Lassie?" Carlton just frowns, which he takes as a no. "Okay, here-take out the Jebediah part altogether. It doesn't help your case. As far as everyone else is concerned, your name is Carlton  _Danger_  Lassiter, right?"

"...Yeah, you're right. That is better."

"I'm  _always_  right, Lass—which is why I can tell you for sure that I can help get you your job back by the end of this. Trout'll never know I helped on the case of his shooter, and you'll get all the credit, and then  _we'll_  go back to not being poor."

All of that sounds great, except—"You're calling this  _poor_?"

"My body is accustomed to a steady diet of fast food, smoothies, chips, and Redbull, Lassie! Now that that's limited, everything's out of whack and my digestion isn't going as smoothly as it used to—"

" _Okay_ , I don't need to hear about that. And you know what? You could stand to be healthier. With all the shit you put in your body you'll be dead from diabetes at 55."

"That just means I'll be dead before I get all bald and wrinkly, _score_."

*

They really should have expected this from someone like Trout. All that work, and the only improvement in Carlton's position is that he's now a  _Department Assigned Driver_. Which only even bumps up his pay to 65% of what he originally got, but at least that's something.

"We'll have to come up with something else, then, because Psych hasn't gotten any cases in like, a year and I need  _food_."

"You could always get a job," he suggests flatly.

Shawn then lets out a loud and continuous whine that, after ten seconds or so, seems to have no end in sight, but he does eventually stop. And then he takes a deep breath, which makes Carlton fear he'll have to listen to another minute of that, but—

"I  _guess_... Or I could just mooch off Gus. Like I always have."

 

* * *

 

XX.

As much of an emotional rollercoaster this whole hostage situation has been, it was all worth it. Now Trout's packing up, meaning everyone's jobs are back to normal, and Psych is back on the department's dollar—or at least has the potential to be.

And Shawn's too excited to hold it in even just until they leave the station; that is, jumping with Gus, giving Juliet multiple high-fives, and of course saving the best for last.

"Lassie, you're Head Detective again," he says with a proud grin, patting his chest.

"As you  _deserve_  to be," Juliet chimes in. "Though I admit it was nice being in that position... for a little bit."

Shawn glances back at her, but quickly turns right back to his boyfriend, who he thinks is being a bit uncharacteristically humble about this whole thing. So he pats him again, this time lingering a moment and giving him a cheekier smile.

"Hey... who's my  _big man_?"

"Don't- _don't call me your big man in front of Guster and O'Hara_!" he whines through gritted teeth. eyes wide and throwing panicked looks at the other two. They both look like they're holding back laughter.

"Come on, who is it," Shawn persists teasingly.

And normally Carlton would have none of this, but he's just as excited about Trout leaving as everyone else, so. He relents (albeit with a terribly flushed cheeks) and mutters:

"...It's me. I'm your big man."

 

* * *

 

XXI.

It feels like clockwork—like time has just been ticking, ever since Trout went fifty-one-fifty, right down to Carlton making this decision. This is where the clock stops; now or never.

It started when he initially realized that Vick's temporary suspension (assuming it's still in place) wouldn't be up for over a month, and subsequently that the SBPD would need a new interim chief. That was the first tick; the next was a day later, when it occurred to Carlton that he hadn't  _once_  thought about trying for that position.

A few days after that, once they solved the John Russell case, he realized that he genuinely did not want it. Not anymore.

For at least twenty years becoming Chief of Police was his  _dream_ _—_ it was the ultimate goal, and since he's already been the youngest-ever appointed Head Detective in Santa Barbara, the sooner he could advance even further, the better. But... now, he supposes that that desire has just faded away.

Whenever it officially began fading, he can't pinpoint, nor can he pinpoint exactly when it finally disappeared for good. He does know, however, the exact reason. And that has brought on an even more important revelation.

...Maybe it isn't necessarily  _now or never_ , but it's his day off, and after everything that's happened it just feels  _right_. Too right to waste another second, if being with Shawn has taught him anything about following his instincts.

Except Shawn is in the bathroom at the moment, so Carlton has no choice but to wait. The time it takes for the sink to run (despite it being shorter than it should be) feels like hell, so then the second the door opens and Shawn steps out, he practically jumps right off the couch.

"Hey, how you feel about Mexican for lunch, 'cause I'm in the mood—"

"Actually, uh—Shawn," he says quickly, and with a slightly cracked voice that makes him regret not preparing himself. "I need to tell you something really important first."

Shawn immediately stops in his tracks and frowns, unsure whether he should be worried. "Um. Okay... Should I sit down?"

"Sure? I mean, if you want to."

Carlton tries to compose himself as Shawn hesitantly comes to sit down with him. Not because he genuinely feels that there's one right way to do this sort of thing, but because he knows if he makes an idiot of himself while doing it, Shawn will never let him live it down.

"Alright, Lassie, what is it?"

He sounds like he's expecting this worst. Carlton hopes that this isn't.

"...Well, I guess I should start with Trout."

"Oh  _god_ , he's not back, is he—?"

"No, he's not. Uh... let me rephrase that entirely: Trout, I suppose, made me realize something about myself. And that is that I don't ever want to be Chief."

"Oh... Lassie, you wouldn't be anything like him as a Chief—"

"That's not what I meant." He pauses to take a breath, and Shawn raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to be Chief because... I can't  _fathom_  not doing detective work. I don't care how good the pay might be—I couldn't take some desk job in place of chasing criminals with you and O'Hara."

"And Gus," Shawn reminds him, starting to get an idea of where this is going.

"And Gus," he agrees with a short nod. "Because—I've thought about it, and that's all I want to do, Shawn. I want to stay on the field forever, and that's all because of  _you_ , so... I started thinking. About my future. And I, I've known for years that I wanted you to be part of it, but now..."

"Lassie?"

"I've never given it much thought before now, and I don't know why—it's legal, and we're living together anyway, and of course there's all the benefits on our taxes and visiting rights in the hospital, especially if we ever get a child... It's not something I necessarily feel the need to do, but it's only practical at this point in our relationship—"

"Oh my god, Lassie, only  _you_  could make a proposal this unromantic." Carlton's breath hitches in a slight sense of fear, but then, "I mean, you started off pretty great, and... well. I guess I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, without much warning, Shawn grabs both sides of the face and kisses him, seemingly as a premature answer.

"Mmph—you're not even gonna let me ask the question?" Carlton mumbles against his mouth, at which Shawn immediately pulls away and looks at him expectantly. And yet he still falters. "...Marry me."

It wasn't actually a question, but Shawn'll take it.

"Yeah," is the first thing he thinks to say, somehow, as he nods furiously and kisses him again. This time he presses him into the couch, and he's grinning so hard it hurts. " _Yeah,_ I'll fuckin' marry you, Lassie _._  I'll marry the _fuck_  out of you."

*

Somehow, when they all get the memo to report to the Chief's office, the possibility of Vick actually being back is the furthest from their minds. And then it seems that they were, in fact, right not to assume so.

"I've accepted a job up north," she tells them, smiling sadly. "Bay area. Effective immediately."

The news puts Carlton in a brief state of shock, and he hears everyone else express their dissent as though they're on the other side of a wall. There's no way this is happening—this is too much change, she can't just  _leav_ e, that would be like a mother bird moving onto a new nest. It's not right.

He comes back to himself, however, when Shawn and Guster hug her abruptly and Juliet follows suit. It's only right that he joins the group goodbye hug, because holy  _shit_  is he going to miss her.

"Oh, and Carlton," she says as soon as they all let go. "I put a word in. You'll get an interview with the mayor."

"For what?"

"To be the next Chief." She says it like it should be obvious.

"Oh, I—" He glances at Shawn, and then at Juliet, who looks suddenly very excited for him. "That won't be necessary, Karen."

"What?" she and Juliet say simultaneously, but only the latter continues: "You've been after that job your whole  _life_ , Carlton—you suddenly don't want it anymore?"

Again, he glances at Shawn, who seems to be giving him permission to explain.

"...I wouldn't say  _suddenly_. Though I did recently make the decision to stay on the field as long as I can, and... that actually coincides with an announcement I wanted to make, and I suppose now's the best time, with everyone here—"

"We're engaged," Shawn says before he can, unable to hold it in for any longer. And now the both of them are grinning as everyone else gapes excitedly between them.

"You said if you ever proposed you would want me there, Shawn!"

"Sorry, Gus, he proposed first, I couldn't—"

" _You_  proposed, Carlton?" Juliet says like she's shocked, and then looking pointedly at Shawn's hands. "And you didn't give him a ring?"

"Well—I didn't see any  _point_ , we'll get rings when we actually have the wedding anyway—"

"Oh,  _please_  tell me you're planning a real wedding,and not just some tiny ceremony.."

"Oh, we will," Shawn assures her. "And obviously, you are all invited."

While Gus and Juliet can barely contain themselves, Vick only just now manages to get a word in:

"Bet you're glad I hired him eight years ago, huh, Carlton?"

And because none of them can thank her enough, a second group hug is in order.

*

"Wanna announce it to the rest of the station, too?"

"Of course—but not all of them are invited."

"Definitely Buzz, though, right?"

"...Sure."

"Ooh—you know who else needs to come? Rowan."

"You want to invite the witch who put a curse on me."

"A curse that literally got us  _together_ , Lassie! It's only fair we let her come."

"Well... I guess. If she wants to."

 

* * *

 

XXII.

Maybe things are just  _supposed_  to start changing. Everything seems to be pushing for it, after all.

Juliet tells Carlton before she tells anyone else—Vick's offered her a position up in San Francisco as Head Detective, and she deems his opinion the most important.

"I know that my life is here—you're here, my boyfriend is here,  _your_  boyfriend is here... but it's an amazing opportunity. And Karen is up there, and I don't want whatever bureaucratic asshole Swaggerty is going to throw on us, and it feels like... it feels like—"

"Like you have no choice," he finishes solemnly.

She tightens her lips and nods. "The more I think about it, the more it seems like he's doing this on purpose, you know? He couldn't keep Trout here so this is his plan B or something."

"...He wants me to follow you," Carlton realizes. "He knows that you'll go, and that I'll be right behind because you're my partner and my best friend and... and then Shawn will follow me, and Guster will follow him if he wasn't already willing to go with you. He's smoking us out, O'Hara."

"Should we let him? I mean—I couldn't possibly ask you to, I know you've lived in Santa Barbara your whole life, and Shawn and Gus would need to be in on the decision too, but—"

"I think you should go where your heart is," he tells her, swiftly and sincerely. "Truthfully... I would be willing to be a junior detective again just to stay by your side. But if I can't transfer, or if Shawn isn't willing to go, I don't want you to let me hold you back, okay?"

She takes a moment to swallow, and then nods again.

"Okay, partner."

*

The four of them will all talk about it tomorrow, he and Juliet have decided. Carlton doesn't know just how devoted Guster is to his girlfriend, but this is the longest relationship he's has in the eight years he's known him, so it seems promising.

But it's really Shawn and himself that he's worried about.

They've had this place for two years now. He dumped his nest egg on it, and he's even started to expect for a while that they might end up having a real family here if Shawn ever gets over his fear of being a bad father. And like Juliet said, he's lived here his whole life—he's dedicated so many years to this city and he doesn't know if he's ready to let his loyalty shift. Does it even really matter, though? He's protecting civilians and serving justice either way.

And as for Psych, there's really no reason Shawn and Guster can't simply move it up the coast. With Vick being Chief of Police in San Francisco now, there isn't even any doubt they could get hired as consultants again—meanwhile it isn't likely they'll get hired as consultants  _here_  anymore.

It's all so overwhelming that Carlton hardly even thinks to mention it until that night, when his arm is already around Shawn, and rubbing his back like he's done nearly every night since they got together.

So he abruptly stops to make sure his boyfriend—no, _fiance_ _—_ won't fall asleep on him, and Shawn immediately shifts to look up at him sleepily.

"What'sa matter?

"...I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"How do you feel about the idea of moving to San Francisco?"

*

*

**Author's Note:**

> [Listen to the unofficial soundtrack [for this fic](http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/and-if-you-think-it-s-not-too-late) / [for the original fic](http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/you-astound-me) (which is even more relevant now, btw)]
> 
> And here's the list of episodes each section corresponds with:
> 
> I. no episode; takes place in between Strange Magic and the next case  
> II. 5x05 Shawn and Gus in Drag (Racing)  
> III. 5x08 Shawn 2.0  
> IV. 5x13 We'd Like to Thank the Academy  
> V. 5x14 The Polarizing Express  
> VI. 5x16 Yin 3 in 2D  
> VII. 6x02 Last Night Gus  
> VIII. 6x03 This Episode Sucks  
> VIV. 6x06 Shawn, Interrupted  
> X. 6x07 In For a Penny...  
> XI. 6x10 Indiana Shawn and the Temple of the Kinda Crappy, Rusty Old Dagger  
> XII. 6x11 Heeeeee's Lassie  
> XIII. 7x01 Santabarbaratown 2  
> XIV. 7x02 Juliet Takes a Luvvah  
> XV. 7x03 Lassie Jerky  
> XVI. 7x10 The Santabarbarian Candidate  
> XVII. 7x11 Office Space  
> XVIII. 7x15 No Trout About It  
> XIX. 8x02 S.E.I.Z.E. the Day  
> XX. 8x04 Someone's Got a Woody  
> XXI. 8x06 1967: A Psych Odyssey  
> XXII. no episode; events are too divergent to coincide with anything


End file.
